


In at the Eye

by Narya_Flame



Series: Nárë a Lindalë [11]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Gen, Permanent Injury, Protective Siblings, Short One Shot, Sibling Love, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 16:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame
Summary: Fingolfin visits a recuperating Lalwen.





	In at the Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/gifts).



> A little something extra. I know you see Lalwen as having an active military role in the First Age. I do too - and this short ficlet explores one possible consequence of that role.
> 
> I first encountered a short-haired Lalwen in [Independence1776's 2018 B2MeM fic](http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewstory.php?sid=1902&chapter=8) \- Indy, I hope you don't mind me borrowing the idea.

The black leather patch sat starkly against her skin. Its edges, though soft, dug into her eye socket – or the socket where her eye had been. Lalwen adjusted the securing band to ease the itching. She had been fortunate, she knew, that the infection had not spread to the other side.

A quiet knock on the door – no doubt one of the Healers come to dose her with something. At least they were knocking now. She had grown heartily sick of them bustling in and out of her chambers with no proper announcement, as though she were a child nursing a chill. “Enter.”

“You hardly seem enthused.” The deep, familiar voice sounded both amused and wounded. “Does your brother not merit a warmer welcome?”

Laughing, she crossed the room as Fingolfin entered, and stepped into his offered embrace. “Forgive me. I thought you were one of the Healers.” She held him close for a few moments, allowed him to kiss her head and wind his fingers into her cropped dark hair – and then stepped away and posed jauntily, one hand on her hip. “Well? It becomes me, does it not?”

“Indeed it does.” He took her hand in his and linked their fingers together, and the mirth in his eyes slipped away behind brotherly concern. “Tell me.”

A cold, cruel grip clutched her insides. “The infection has cleared, and the scarring will fade with time. There was nothing unusually dark or powerful on the blade – only common Orc poison.”

“But?”

She turned her head to the pale morning light. “They say my perception of depth and distance may be affected. Perhaps even my balance on a horse.” Something hard and hot was lodged in her throat; she swallowed, and faced her brother again. “But I will keep fighting.” It was intended to be stern, though she flushed at the waver in her voice. It was slight, and few would have caught it, but she knew Fingolfin had. “You're not to coddle me.”

“Of course not.” He kissed the palm of her hand – and there. There it was, that look she had longed for him to give her since they were children, but that until now he had only ever bestowed on their parents and on Fëanáro. His eyes met hers with a mingling of such love and deep respect that it was like a searing knife beneath her heart, and she leaned into him again, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “I would not dream of it.”


End file.
